


To Lead Men

by kaflake



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaflake/pseuds/kaflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After weeks of traveling, Skyhold is less than a day away. Inquisitor V'rael Lavellan is more than ready to be off the road and back in the arms of Dorian Pavus. That is, if Dorian had actually managed to recover from his wounds. Leaving Dorian alone to recover had been tremendously difficult, but it seems returning home, unaware of what he'll find, is even more so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> First Fanfiction.... ever. I sort of missed out on the fanfiction craze when I was a teenager. I've only ever written one other fic and I never posted it anywhere. So this is my fanfiction deflowering if you will. Be gentle.
> 
>  
> 
> I wrote this guy just before I finished the game and since finishing I've been playing around with the idea of writing an origin story for my male rouge Lavellan, V'rael. I was pretty disappointed with the lack of background information available for my inquisitor. Part of the reason I love Origins so much is because it really lets you flesh out your Warden before the game even starts. The beginning of Inquisition pales in comparison to Origins (even DA2 in my opinion), so keep your eyes pealed if you're interested and please enjoy my first fic. 
> 
> P.S. Let me know if you find any spelling or grammar errors. I've read and re written this about five or six times and I still keep finding things.

Inquisitor V’rael Lavellan was exhausted and eager to return to Skyhold. The Western Approach had drained most of him and the Frostbacks were taking what was left. They were bitterly cold and the small band of soldiers and scouts accompanying his party were making slow work of them. They had been on the road for weeks and Lavellan was developing sores from all the riding. To make matters even more uncomfortable, he was still finding sand everywhere. It was in the crevices of his clothes, his boots, eyes, ears, and other unmentionable places. He would never be rid of it. They would bury him and find a small trail of it leading to his grave. The snow didn’t help either. It melted into his clothes and made the sand stick to every surface. V’rael pulled his coat tighter in a vain effort to keep out the cold. _Soon,_ he thought, _Soon I’ll be home._ V’rael laughed at himself, Since when was Skyhold home? He was Dalish and Dalish didn’t have homes. They had people, they had clans. Home wasn’t a building with walls. It was a story by the fire, the Keeper’s wise words, and the creak of the aravelles. It was his first hunt, his vallaslin, and his heritage. None of those things were at Skyhold and the memories of them seemed so distant now, like they belonged to someone else. They were faded and blurry; reflections on water instead of polished glass. A bitterness welled up in him. He hadn't meant to remember. _I can't go back not now, after everything that has happened. Not after the conclave, I've changed._ Some of the changes were painful, the anchor for instance. The green glow of it seeped out occasionally from under his glove. Other changes were not painful at all. They were glorious. An image of Dorian flashed in front of his eyes. He wished Dorian was with him now, he could use a smile or a quip about “blighted Southern weather”. He pushed the image away. Thinking about Dorian made his chest tighten.

“If I never see snow again,” said Vivenne, “It will be too soon. Such a shame I have an excellent view of it from my window. I’ll have to have a wall built.”

“I’ll just be happy to have this shirt off,” said The Iron Bull.

Cole remained silent. Presumably distracted by thoughts of all the uncomfortable soldiers surrounding them. It was difficult not to feel hurt when everyone around him was sore and tired. He thought of all his companions warm and safe back at Skyhold. An idea struck him then. _I haven’t lost my clan,_ thought Lavellan, _I’ve just changed the faces._ When did these people become so important? He wondered what all of them were doing: Varric was either writing a novel or playing wicked grace and researching one. Cassandra, as usual, would be in the yard, hacking away at a stuffed dummy. V’rael couldn’t remember a day when she didn’t ruthlessly attack something with a sword. Sera was up to something devious, or she was planning to be and Blackwall was in the stables whittling something and waiting for news of the Wardens. He imagined Solas in his study preparing a new section of wall for paint. The empty space would taunt him, waiting for him to make a decision. His advisors, without a doubt, would be waiting in the war room to squabble over minute details. Vrael sighed there was only one person left to think about. So he did.

Taking Dorian to the Western Approach had been out of the question. He had sustained too many injuries in the Emerald Graves and for some reason, none of them were healing properly. Getting Dorian back to Skyhold in one piece was quite the task. Normal spells and conventional magic were not working at all. Solas thought it had something to do with a strange demon they had encountered at a fade rift. _If only I had been faster,_ thought Lavellan, _The forsaken thing wouldn’t have struck him so hard._ The healers said not to worry, that none of the wounds were life threatening. Even the gash on Dorian’s back would heal perfectly well once the non-magical physician stitched it up. He just needed time to heal naturally. “He’ll be fine,” they said, but V’rael wasn’t convinced and worried anyway. He’s sleeping so much. _He’s only awake a few hours a day. Surely there is something someone can do?_ But nothing worked they would just have to wait.

  
“I will watch him Lethallan,” said Solas, “You can not keep the Wardens waiting any longer.” And V’rael really couldn’t. Reports came in daily suggesting that the situation in the Western Approach was getting dire. So Lavellan left reluctantly and wracked with guilt. It still stung even now, weeks later. He shook his head to banish the thoughts, but he couldn’t rid himself of the sinking pit that was his stomach. It twisted into knots threatening to make him sick. He urged his horse faster to distract himself. He caught up with the Captain of his guard moments latter.

"How much longer, Remings?" he asked, doing his best to speak clearly over the wind.

"Not long now, your worship," shouted the Captain, "A few more hours, half a day at most and we should see battlements."

"Can we pick up the pace?"

"I wouldn't advise it. Snow’s looking pretty thick, we'll wear the horses out. We're pushing our limits as it is."

"As you say Captain."

 

V'rael slowed his horse and fell back to avoid further conversation. He distracted himself by thinking of all the things Dorian could be doing that very moment: He’s reading a book of ancient Teventer spells. It’s a futile exercise because half of them are missing or incomplete, but he’s too stubborn to give up. He’s drinking in the tavern with the Chargers. The wine is shitty but he doesn’t care. It will give him another reason to open that bottle of Antivan Ariato Vint-4 when V’rael gets back. He’s playing chess with Cullen and teasing him mercilessly, because when he plays with me and I lose, I take off clothes. The thoughts eventually led to one he’d been avoiding at all costs. He remembered saying goodbye:

_Dorian was in the Inquisitor’s quarters. Lavellan almost had to have him forcibly placed there, but in the end Dorian conceded, grumbling about gossip and rumors under his breath. At the moment he was laying in V’rael’s bed, reading a poorly translated Teven novel. He looked ready to fall asleep at any moment. V’rael sat down at the edge of the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements and disturb Dorian’s wounds._

_"I hate you seeing me like this," he said, "It's not really fair now is it? My hair is a mess. You, however, look stunning and deadly." The armor didn’t escape his notice, “Off to battle?"_

_V'rael told him about the mission. He tried his best not make direct eye contact._

_"I don't suppose you could carry me there on a stretcher? No? Well then I'll just have to stay and keep your bed warm won't I?" Dorian tried to laugh, but it came out a gasp. V'rael wanted to scream he felt so helpless.Of course V'rael couldn't take Dorian. He could barely sit up. V'rael couldn't believe he was leaving and he was so angry that circumstances made it necessary. He looked away, frustrated and ashamed._

_As if reading the Inquisitor's mind Dorian said, "Don't. It's alright. Go." Dorian placed a bandaged hand on V’rael’s cheek._

_"Amatus." He said the last word with such unrestrained tenderness, V’rael thought he might cry. The gesture and the words were out of place for Dorian. Even in private Dorian was rarely so openly tender, usually such moments came with a joke or a tease. Before any emotion could overcome him, V'rael lifted Dorian's hand, kissed his fingers softly, one at a time, and placed his hand back on the bed. He couldn’t bare to look at Dorian’s face. He stood to leave, walked across the room and without turning back and said, "I'll be back. In three weeks, just three weeks. Promise you won't go anywhere?"_

_"I wouldn't dream of it,” said Dorian sleepily, “I can't have you jumping into the Fade to drag me back out now can I?" V’rael, unable to resist any longer, turned to look at Dorian once more. But he was already asleep. V'rael left as quietly as he could. He didn't speak again until his company was hours on the road._

"It was a bad joke," said Cole, "He didn't mean it."

V'rael sighed. Of course Cole was listening to his thoughts. They were pitiful thoughts, sad, morbid thoughts. Cole wouldn't be able to help himself.

"I know Cole. He just didn't want me to worry."

"But it didn't work."

"Yeah he really put his foot in his mouth with that one. I blame the stab wound, normally he's much more cheery."

"But his foot is too far,” said Cole perplexed, “ And it wouldn’t fit. But he likes the taste of yours and the way you sound after he’s-"

"Cole!"

Bull laughed, "Maybe not after all this sand. Too gritty.”

The Iron Bull was much closer that V'rael realized and he was certain that little bit of information was going to come back up after Bull had a few drinks. V'rael was just glad he was a few paces ahead of everyone. His face must be beet red.

After a few moments of precious silence, Cole asked, "Inquisitor?”

“Yes Cole?”

“Why is it backwards? I don't understand. The closer we are the more it hurts."

"You mean to Skyhold?" V'rael knew that wasn’t what Cole meant.

"To Dorian."

"Oh," V'rael tried to put the feelings into words,"I suppose it's because I'm impatient and the farther we are the easier it is to focus on other things and to forget. We're too close now, it's all I can think of."

"But you don’t really want to forget. Not Dorian. Even though it hurts.”

It wasn’t a question. “No I suppose not.”

“Will you break?"

"Break?"

"From the hurt? A burning, aching, throbbing, so close, so close. His hand on my skin, such sweet words. His mouth, I'm going to burst-"

"Creators, Cole! Could you at least lower your voice?"

“Sorry.”

Bull laughed even louder, "Oh I'm sure he'll break, Cole. Maybe more than once! Right Boss?"

"Really now," said Vivienne feigning shock, "There is no need for such crass discussion." But she didn't sound very sincere. V’rael suspected she was hiding a smile. Great, thought V'rael, Everyone is listening. Could he really blame them though? There was nothing else to do on this blasted mountain. Any distraction from the cold was a welcome one. He wondered how many of his guard had overheard.

"No Cole," said V'rael before anyone else could comment, "I'm not going to ‘break’." He was feeling uncomfortably hot. He wished Cole would stop.

"Inquisitor?"

"Yes Cole?" V'rael wasn't sure how much more he could take.

"He wasn't angry, he knew you had to. He understood."

"Thanks Cole. That actually really helps.” And it did. He felt surprisingly relieved. Sometimes Cole knew exactly what to say.

\-----

The next few hours went by quietly, the change in altitude brought sharp biting winds that made it even more difficult to speak. V'rael tried to catch a few moments sleep in the saddle, but all he met with were nightmares of arrows, blood and smoke. Eventually he recognized some of the landscape. V'rael smiled. It meant that they were on the final stretch of the return trip. There was more snow on the road than expected. It made the going slow and they only had a couple more hours of daylight.

"Your worship?" said the Captain. He had made his way back to have a quick word.

"Yes Captain? We're nearly there aren't we? Only a couple more hours?"

"Yes, Inquisitor. However," he paused trying to decide something, "I thought we'd take the pass instead of the usual way. We'd make better time. All this excess snow is making me nervous. It's slowed us down too much. I'm worried we'll get caught out in the dark if we go the way we had originally planned. And I don't know if the men can take another night out in the cold, not when we're so close."

 _Not just the men,_ thought V’rael. Another night in the snow would probably drive him mad as well.

“We all have someone we want to get back to,” added Remings. He had a family, the Inquisitor remembered, a wife and two girls all of them at Skyhold.

It was a difficult choice. The pass was steep, likely covered in snow and unseen dangers. They would have to backtrack half a mile or so as well. But it was shorter, much shorter, and with only a couple more hours of daylight it might be the better option. Nights in the Frostbacks could be deadly. The usual way was safer but, if they lost the sun, it would be too dangerous to continue and they'd be forced to make camp till morning.  
  
"We'll take the pass," said V'rael, without a moment’s hesitation.

It wasn’t long before they spotted the pass. It was narrow and deceptively steep. For safety it was best to go single file. A scout went first, then the Captain and the rest of the forward guard. Skyhold was obscured behind the snow-covered and heavily wooded rise to their right, but there, just above the treeline, V’rael could see an Inquisition banner fluttering in a stiff wind. It was so small he almost missed it. His heart began to race. _We’re so close,_ he thought, _Soon, soon._ His hands began to shake in anticipation. The forward guard was making good time, Vivienne followed next, then Cole. _He’s in the library sitting in that tacky Orlesian arm chair with a perfect view of the courtyard. He’s been waiting for days and can’t seem to concentrate the book he’s been reading. He doesn’t even know the title._ Bull went next. He’s so wide, V’rael worried he might fall. He waited for Bull to make it most of the way down before he started. _Dorian would see him enter the gate. He’d do his best to restrain himself and make his way calmly to the entrance of the keep. He’d fail and start running. He’d want to be the first person I met on returning._ Lavellan was halfway down the pass, his rear guard close behind him. _He’ll meet me breathless and smiling. He’ll chastise me for being late, but his eyes will be kind and his hair windswept from running._ Just a bit farther and he’d be there. Skyhold would be visible around the next bend. _I’d dismount and close the space between us. Our lips would meet and time would stop. We’d start four new rumors in the process. We’d only part long enough for him to say-_

But V’rael’s thoughts were interrupted. He was falling. At the last and most treacherous bend, the wind picked up. A tree not far above them, heavy with snow and ice, fractured. The tree did not fall far, but the deluge of snow and the sound spooked his horse. It reared knocking V’rael off balance and sending him tumbling down the side of the left rise. He met the snow covered hill quickly, landing on his left shoulder. He heard it snap rather than felt it. There wasn’t enough time to process anything, he was moving too fast. Panic and momentum paralyzed him. Everything was a blur and he would have kept falling if it hadn’t been for the trees. He hit one, two, three, and then a low hanging branch of another. It was the branch that stopped him. Without the movement, all he could feel was pain. He was on his back. His left arm felt wrong. It twisted at an odd angle and there was a sharp pinching feeling in his left side. One of his legs he couldn’t tell which, was wet and hot. There was something sticky seeping down his face. Everything seemed twice as bright. There were shouts and screams above him, but he was only mildly aware of them. Through the branches he could see it. A patch of sky. It was a beautiful shade of blue. _I can see it through the window. The day’s too beautiful for me to leave. Just a little more time. He’s asleep. I have to be quiet or I’ll wake him._ Then everything went black.


	2. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, a walking miracle, has been brutally injured by a tree. Well multiple trees. And a mountain. Will he survive? Will Dorian be there waiting for him to wake? Or has he succumbed to his injuries as well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part to my very first fic. Lots of dialogue. Lots of fun.

_Blue, so blue. He needed to get home. Quickly before something happened. Quickly. Quickly._

“Amatus,” the word came out mellow and sweet, like tea with honey.

_So blue, so bruised. Wake up so I can say goodbye. Don’t let me leave without saying goodbye._

“Amatus, wake up.”

V’rael felt a coolness on his face tracing his vallaslin from forehead to his neck. It paused on his lips warming the mark there. V’rael tried to sigh, but it came out as a moan.

“There,” said the low honey dipped voice, “That wasn’t so hard.”

_Dorian._

“Ma vehnan,” said V’rael. The words came out slow and slurred, almost unrecognizable. He hadn’t meant to say that, not yet anyway.

“That’s a new word,” said Dorian, he let anger color his voice, “You’re just full of surprises today aren’t you?” V’rael was too groggy to comprehend his tone.

“Feel stiff,” mumbled V’rael, “My arm...weird.”

“I’m not surprised. You nearly tore your arm off, or rather a tree did. A bad move on your part.” _A tree? What tree?_ Everything was fuzzy and it was getting harder to breath. There was a dull pain on the right side of his torso. With each breath it grew sharper, more defined. The stiffness in his arm became a dull throb, growing in intensity. The last thing he remembered was Dorian’s face, asleep and slightly bruised. And the blue... V’rael remembered leaving Dorian bandaged in his bed.

“You...okay? Bandages?” asked V’rael. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath or form coherent sentences.

“Amazing. Of all things to ask and you ask about my injuries. Of course they’re gone! It’s been _over_ three weeks.” That’s right. I was on a mission in the Western Approach. Wardens, sulfur pits, bandits, excessive amounts of sand.

“Dorian it hurt so much,” said V’rael, “There was so much sand. It was too far. Don’t make me go again.”

“You can be sure of that. That’s the last time I let you out on your own. Obviously you can’t even handle sitting a horse.” The comment was confusing.

“Dalish don’t ride horses,” said V’rael.

“Clearly. Judging by the state you’re in.”

V’rael was excessively puzzled. What is he talking about? Why did everything hurt? Why is Dorian’s voice so far away...

“Am I...” V’rael was starting to comprehend the situation, “Am I drugged?” That was the only explanation for why nothing was making sense.

“My dear,” said Dorian, “they’ve given you enough elfroot to tame a dragon.”

 

The medication was starting to wear off. For instance: he could now feel he was lying down on something, but he couldn’t tell if it was hard or soft. His vision was slowly returning. Dorian, he could hear, was somewhere to his right and everything, absolutely everything, was sore.

“It’s disgraceful how pitiful you look and totally unfair. I’m having a very hard time being angry with you.”

“Maybe you should stop trying?” offered V’rael. _Why was he so angry?_

“No. You don’t almost kill yourself and get off scotch free.” _Oh,_ thought V’rael. He remembered now. The snow, the wind, the pass. His horse tossing him down the side of the mountain. That’s why everything hurts.

“You shouldn’t have taken the pass. It was foolish. You could have killed yourself.”

“I was just dying to get back-” V’rael winced at the slip. Dorian made a sound worthy of Cassandra.

The medication had worn of entirely. V’rael could feel everything. The pain in his shoulder was leaching out into the rest of his body like the roots of a tree. He must have a broken rib, maybe two, and now he could feel a third injury on his leg. That one only hurt when he moved.

“That was a really bad and totally unintentional joke,” said V’rael apologetically. He was becoming more lucid. He could speak clearly and form complete sentences. He was in his quarters, on his bed. There was a chair to his right. He guessed Dorian was using it moments ago. He wasn’t _now_ , however. Dorian was across the room, arms crossed with a grim look on his face. At any other time Dorian’s expression would have terrified the Inquisitor. It was icy and ruthless. But now, other than his glaring scowl, Dorian looked perfect. _Thank the Creators,_ thought V’rael. There wasn’t a bandage or scar on him. Relief washed over him and it was as potent as any poultice or potion. Suddenly all V’rael wanted was to touch Dorian, to feel his skin, his hair, his mouth. V’rael tried to sit up, but his body protested. He grit his teeth, but still a gasp escaped him.

“Fasta vass, lay back down!” shouted Dorian. His angry facade faded for just a moment, replaced with concern. There was fear there as well. He was across the room in three steps. Gently, much more gently than V’rael expected, he placed a hand on V’rael’s shoulder and helped him lay back down. He moved steadily, careful not to jostle the sheets or the bed. Dorian sat down in the chair, suddenly defeated. He put his elbows on his knees and let his head hang. His shoulders were tense. Up close Dorian looked less than perfect. His eyes were red and ringed with dark circles. He looked pale and a little thin.

“Do you know how exhausting it’s been the past few hours? That scientist woman you have insisted on giving you stitches. I don’t know why you keep her around, magic works well enough without having to resort to such a barbaric practice.”

“Actually I do know what it’s like,” said V’rael feeling defensive. The physician must have been feeling more confident after being allowed to heal Dorian, “And I keep her for the times when magic isn’t enough.”

A moment of mutual irritation passed between them. This was not the welcome either of them wanted. Dorian broke the silence first.

“You didn’t have to throw yourself off a mountain to get even with me you know.”

“What can I say I have a dramatic flair that must be expressed. The mountain seemed like too good of an opportunity to waste.” V'rael, still feeling a little bitter, was desperate to lighten the mood, but Dorian didn’t laugh. His face was in his hands. He looked so tired.

“You know, they didn’t even wake me. When you all came in. It was late.”

“What? Who decided-”

“Lelianna. She was right, of course. I would have caused a scene and alerted the entire keep that the Herald of Andraste was bleeding out on the carpet in the foyer. Josephine had to burn the carpet to keep your stupidity quiet. She was quiet put out by that. It was some gift from a minor noble who's staying. And we couldn’t have the Inquisitor appearing mortal after all, now could we?”

“Sorry.” _Sorry, for everything_ , “Did anyone else-”

“No just you. Everyone else is perfectly fine. Well almost. The Captain with your guard, Roswald? Rowain?”

“Remings”

“That’s it. He was a raving, teary mess. Practically begging for Cullen to put him irons. Apparently he blames himself for the whole fiasco. But we both know that's not true.” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Shit.”

“Eloquently put," and for the first time since waking, Dorian smiled at him, "You should probably apologize to Cole as well. Then there’s Vivienne who kept you alive as long as she did-”

“Alright I get it. I really fucked up.”

“Glad to see we’re on the same page.”

“I’m sorry.” Dorian stayed silent waiting for more, “What I did was thoughtless and selfish.”

“Good.”

“And promise I won’t leave you again.”

Dorian sighed, “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

\-----

They were silent for a while. V’rael thought maybe Dorrian had fallen asleep in the chair. He wouldn’t blame him. He was feeling too many things at once. Sleep would be a welcome escape. The pain in his shoulder was becoming unbearable. He thought about closing his eyes, but instead he carefully raised his right hand placed it on Dorian’s face. Dorian didn't resist or move a way. A good sign. Instead, with his eyes closed, he took V’rael’s hand in his. He kissed his fingers, one by one, both of them remembering. Their roles reversed on a clear cloudless day. It seemed ages ago.

“Era seranna ma, Inquisitor. I don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s past time for your potion.” Neither of them had heard Solas enter the room.

“The grumpy elf returns.” murmured Dorian. Solas definitely heard him.

“Aneth ara, Solas” said V’rael trying to make up for Dorian’s rudeness, “Ma serannas. You could have sent someone else.”

“Lelianna wants to keep the degree of your injuries quiet. She fears it would weaken morale. I agree.”

“So I’ve been told.” said V’rael. The elf’s tone was unmistakable. He added Solas to the list of people who were angry with him. Dorian stood and removed himself to the couch near the stair so that Solas could administer the medication. His grim face had reappeared. He sat with his arms stretched wide over the back of the couch one leg propped on the other knee.

When Solas was close enough, V’rael said, “Ma melava halani. Thank you. For watching him.”

“It was nothing, Inquisitor,” his voice was cold. Solas hadn't called him Inquisitor since Haven.

“No it wasn’t and I’ve repaid your kindness with selfishness.” At that Solas smiled, forgiving him. _Well at least he was easy to please._

“You are too hard on yourself, Lethallin,” said Solas, “We all make bad choices occasionally. Here drink this and sleep. You look terrible.”

V’rael drank the concoction gratefully. It tasted bitter but as he drank it he felt the pain numb and ebb away. He also felt incredibly sleepy.

“Ma.. serannas, Solas,” it was hard for V’rael to talk again.

“Hamin Lethallin,” said Solas as he left. He nodded to Dorian at the stair. Dorian scowled, perhaps he was jealous? 

V’rael felt his mind cloud over. His body was heavy like stone. Why is Dorian so far away again?

“Come here,” said V’rael. The words were thick.

“No. I’m still furious. Besides you’re too delicate at the moment. I wouldn’t want to break you.”

Vrael laughed, drowsy, “Cole was right.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” V’rael was starting to loose time. It was fast and slow simultaneously. The blue was back.

“Sleep well Amatus.” There was a slight pressure on his forehead. _When did Dorian cross the room?_

“Ma vehnan.” and then V’rael fell asleep.


	3. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor V'rael Lavellan finally gets the welcome home he wants, but his past keeps rearing it's ugly head. He's been running from it since the conclave and in a moment of hazy weakness it has finally caught up.

It was dark when V’rael woke up. He felt surprisingly clear headed and his shoulder only mildly irritating. His left arm was secured in a sling to help relieve any added strain. He had no idea where it had come from or how long he'd been sleeping. It felt like a long time. He was alone and the room was lit by a low fire. It gave off a soft heat and the flickering light was mesmerizing. He looked at it a while. The darkness of the room momentarily let him forget where he was. The silence transformed and he heard the soft chatter of elvish. Maybe he wasn’t awake or quite as clear headed as he thought. The shadows began to move. They were friends warm by the firelight. They laughed and discussed their day. They smiled. Children danced to silent music. One of them had golden hair. V’rael shook his head. He’d worked so hard to lock away those memories. It was the potion that did it. It made him see things and lowered his defenses. He couldn’t go back to his clan, not after the conclave. There was nothing he could do about that, so why dwell? _No. I can’t think of them. Especially not… Stop it._

“Kaffas!” there was a sharp intake of breath and the sounds of someone tripping on the stair.

“Dorian?” Good, a distraction.

“Blighted stairs. Should have lit the lamp before coming up.” A spark and then the flowering glow of an oil lamp. It scaled up the wall illuminating Dorian’s face.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” said Dorian as he ascended to the top of the stair, “Feeling better?”

“Surprisingly, yes. Where have you been?” Dorian walked across the room and set the lamp down on V’rael’s desk.

“Just now or the past six days?” he said as he grabbed a log and threw it on the fire. He did something then with his hands and the fire blossomed.

“Six days?”

“That’s how long you’ve been sleeping," said Dorian, "I've been here by the way. Avoiding awkward questions about where you are."

"Oh," said V'rael. How had so much time passed by without his notice?

 "You're welcome by the way," added Dorian, "I was in the war room trying to convince your nannies that you need one more night off. They’re pretty desperate to begin planning for Adamant. Cullen has been especially touchy and Josephine looked like she might cry. That Ferelden Lord or is it Tyern? Arl? I can never keep all these southern titles straight. Well he won't stop pestering her about your whereabouts-”

“So am I off the hook?” asked V’rael hopefully. He wasn’t ready to deal with the “chaos” yet. It might have been a long week for everyone else, but for him it was nothing but a hazy dream, spent in and out of consciousness, fighting off nightmares. Time had slipped away without his notice and he could certainly use at least one night of lucid relaxation. He was still reeling from the fall off his horse.

“Of course it did,” said Dorian, “Who could say no this face? It also helps if you threaten to magically seal the door.”

“A winning combination,” V’rael laughed as he shifted on the bed to make room for Dorian.

Dorian didn’t move he was looking at V’rael’s shoulder. His face was suddenly serious and strained. V’rael could see how exhausted he was. The last six day, no the last few weeks, had not been easy.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, “We don’t have to rush anything-”

“Dorian, if you don’t get over here right now... ”

 "Alright, alright," Dorian gave a devilish grin and sauntered over to the bed taking off his shirt,"no need for threats."

V’rael felt himself stiffen at the sight. _It’s been so long..._ Dorian sat down and started pulling off his shoes exposing his back to V’rael in the dim light. A thin pink scar, slightly raised and shiny with new skin caught V’raels attention. It was the gash from the Emerald Graves. V’rael could see the the little puncture wounds from where the stitches had been. All things considered, it was healing nicely. V’rael crawled over and ran his fingers along the scar. It was warm and smooth. Without hesitating V’rael leaned down and kissed the mark gently. _A kiss to fade the pain away._ The memory surfaced quickly without warning. V’rael hadn’t thought of that in years. His stepmother used to say that. He could clearly see her nursing a scrape on his brother’s arm, though there must have been a time when she kissed his injuries too. Thinking of her made him feel a little lonely. He reached his good arm around Dorian’s waist and pulled him close. _Now of all times. Why can’t I just forget?_

“I’m so glad you’re here,” said V’rael. Dorian was something real and tangible. Dorian laughed deep in his throat. He was still bent over untying his shoes and now he was supporting all of V’rael’s weight as well.

“You know for invalid who’s been wasting away for a week, you’re really quite heavy.”

V’rael chuckled. It’s just like Dorian to ruin a moment with a joke. Well two can play at that game.

“Is that a layer of fat I feel over those chiseled abs?” V’rael pinched at the skin over Dorian’s stomach, “My you’ve really let yourself go these past few weeks haven’t you?”

“Ugh!” Dorian stood up quickly pushing V’rael flat on his back. The look on Dorian’s face sent V’rael into a fit of laughter.

“I’ll have you know,” said Dorian, “That I work very hard to keep this handsome and sculpted physique.” V’rael curled up on the bed, laughing and holding a stitch in his side.

“Oh really,” V’rael snickered, “I would have never known with all that wine you drink. Looks like it’s all gone to your hips.” Dorian looked at him agast. V’rael laughed even harder. He felt tears well in his eyes.

“I think I’m going to have to punish you for that one.” Before V’rael could collect himself, Dorian was on top of him, straddling his waist. He’d also managed to remove his pants and start on V’rael’s.

“Is that before or after you crush me with your thighs?” said V’rael with a wicked grin. Dorian brought his lips close to V’rael’s ear,”I’m going to ravish you.” _Alright you win._ V’rael slipped his fingers into Dorian’s hair and pulled him into a kiss. Dorian’s hand when to V’rael’s waist then his thighs. V’rael’s back arched thirsty for any contact with bare skin. They were ravenous and desperate. Kisses bit and caresses scratched. Breathing became less important. Only touch and taste mattered. Time slipped away. They were hot sticky and blissful as the sun rose.

 

\-----

 

V’rael was curled up on his right side his limbs entwined with Dorian’s. He wasn’t sure when his left arm made it out of the sling or where the sling had got to, but he didn’t care. He felt warm and safe. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Not since before the Western Approach. Dorian slept peacefully, lightly snoring, something he’d never admit to.

“Amatus, amatus,” whispered Dorian. He was dreaming, “Where…are you..” V’rael smiled and turned over to get a better look at Dorian’s face in the early sun. His left shoulder protested. Loudly. It felt as if daggers were burrowing up out of his skin. He winced and breathed in sharply. The noise, slight as it was, woke Dorian.

Dorian sat up quickly, arms flailing reaching for something. He let out a few nonsense syllables before he said, “V’rael? Where are you? What…?”

V’rael laughed. Dorian’s hair was standing up on end on one side of his head. A new spasm of pain radiated out of his shoulder, V’rael grabbed his arm as if that would push the pain away.

“Oh. Ow. Haha,” V’rael laughed, “Are you okay?”

“‘Are you okay?’ he says. You really are a wonder. Here let me see.” Dorian pushed V’rael’s hands away. He inspected V’rael’s shoulder a moment then began to gently massage the joint. His hands were cold, unnaturally cold. _Magic_. It felt wonderful. _Shhh. Hamin, malath, let me help._  V’rael flinched at the memory. It was unwelcome and out of place. Dorian apologized thinking he’d pushed too hard. _Stop it. Let it go._ He didn’t want to remember him right now.

“Since when were you a healer?” asked V’rael to distract himself.

“I”m not,” said Dorian with a sideways grin, “It’s just a frost spell. Solas mentioned that you’d need to have your shoulder iced to help minimize the discomfort.”

“So you two are friends now?” V’rael liked the idea of them being friends. He respected Solas and if things were different, he might have even loved him. _They're so similar._ An image of a smile and golden hair flashed in V'raels mind.

"Friends might be too strong of a word.” Dorian’s mood soured at the mention of Solas. His icy fingers grew a little too cold and a little too rough. V’rael decided to change the subject.

“What were you dreaming about?”

“What?” Dorian’s face was screwed up in concentration.

“You were talking in your sleep,.”

“Oh- I... It’s not important. Just a dream."

“What was it about?”

Dorian hesitated for a minute,"I dreamed Sera shaved half my mustache off.”

V”rael snorted, “That is not what you’re dream was about!”

“It was mortifying. I’ve been carefully manicuring it for years. You don’t understand, with that baby face of yours.” V’rael wasn’t convinced.

“Come on, vhenan, tell me.” V’rael looked at him pleadingly. Dorian sighed defeated, but there was smile on his face. A small one. He liked the new word. V’rael wondered if Dorian knew what it meant.

“Alright, fine,” Dorian closed his eyes trying to remember, “It felt like I was in the Fade, but I’m not so sure. I was running in a thick fog. I was looking for something. You, I think. There were these things. They were chasing me. Big black feathered things. I can’t really call them birds. They were horrendous. Yelling at me...I can’t quite remember.” Dorian’s hands warmed and fell to his side.

“Ravens,” said V’rael. He felt dizzy. There was a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach like he was falling down the cliff all over again. He sat up, but it didn’t help.

“Possibly. The whole thing was unsettling I couldn't quite get a grasp on what was happening.  There was someone else there. I spirit maybe? That is if I was actually in the Fade. It wanted me to follow it and it kept changing shape. Sometimes it was a man and sometimes it was deer. It had horns. I couldn’t make myself stop. I wanted to see it so badly. ‘Count to ten.’ it said... V’rael? What’s wrong?”

V’rael put his hand over his mouth. He felt like he was going to be sick. _It’s just a coincidence. It can’t be him. He died. Right? The memories, they keep resurfacing, maybe it’s him. Or maybe my guilt is just manifesting in a moment of hazy, doped up weakness. That’s it. That’s it. But...Why would Dorian dream about him?_

“Are you all right? You look like you’re about to faint. Was it something I saiod?” Dorian placed his hand on V’raels forehead to test for a fever.

“I just feel nauseous,” said V’rael.

“Do you need something? Water?” Dorian was already out of bed searching for a pitcher.

“No I-" an idea came to him, "Solas. I need Solas.” _He’d know. He’d know if it was just a dream. If it’s an illusion or if I’m losing my mind. It can’t be real._

“Are you sure? Maybe I can-”

“No,” said V’rael definitively, “I need Solas.”

Dorian looked a little hurt, “Alright. I’ll get him. Don’t do anything stupid. Like faint.” Dorian pulled on a pair of pants not bothering with the straps, and tunic that was probably V’raels because it looked too small. He was gone in a matter of seconds.

V’rael did his best to stay calm. He looked at the fire and counted. _A hunter must remain calm. If you begin to look like prey, flighty and nervous, that’s what you’ll become. You won’t catch anything that way._ The sound of foot steps drew him out of his memory. It was Solas. He looked tired. V’rael had forgotten how early it was. Dorian wasn’t with him. _He is probably angry with me again._

“Lethallin. Dorian said you were feeling ill,” Solas walked over to bed. He was holding a vial of some unknown liquid, “I should have come yesterday and explained. I suppose he ah, forgot.” The clothes strewn about the room hadn’t escaped his notice.

“I've been weaning you off the potion for the past two days. There will be some withdrawal symptoms,” continued Solas, “It was very potent. But we couldn’t afford to wait. I brought you this to help with the nausea.”

“It’s not that Solas,” V’rael felt his face go red in embarrassment, “I just needed to ask you something. You’re the only person I could think of who would know.”

“Anything.” V’rael knew he meant it. He didn’t know where to begin. It seemed so silly now that Solas was standing in front of him. It was just a dream wasn’t it? It wasn’t even his dream. Did that help or hurt his claim? He wasn’t sure. He tried to sound level-headed when he spoke, but his voice wavered, betraying him.

“Do you think someone, a mage, if he had the right abilities could have survived the conclave?”

“Possibly. There are a lot of variables involved. It might be impossible to predict something like that, even in hindsight.” Solas looked at him with a measured expression trying to understand what he was getting at.

“What if he had strong connection to the Fade. Could he have retreated there? Maybe slipped in when I did? Or just sent his mind?” V’rael was grasping at straws. He knew it but what about Dorian’s dream? It was so personal, how could Dorian see things that he’d never told him? Told anyone? Solas gave him a hard look. He was deciding whether to answer the question or not. V’rael looked at him like a drowning man gasping for air.

“If he stepped into the Fade as you did, there is a possibility he could have survived, but not for long. There is no food in the Fade, no water, and there demons thirsty for life. If he was a mage this would only make him more of a target. And I’m not convinced such an act would be possible. Not consciously. There wasn’t enough time.”

“But if his mind…He was so strong Solas.”

“Do you know what a Harrowing is, dahlen?” V’rael shook his head, “It’s a test performed by circle mages. Apprentices have their minds forced into the Fade and are pitted against a demon. If they succeed, their minds return to this world, if not, they are slain, even if they are not possessed. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

V’rael felt himself sink into the sheets, like a puddle. _Of course, of course. There’s no way._

“His body would have perished in the explosion. The outcome of such a scenario is only death.”

“Dorian- He had a dream. He said it felt like the Fade. He described something, someone. I thought it might be him. I wasn’t alone at the conclave,” Solas didn't seem surprised, "I've been hoping..."

V’rael’s face was wet but he wasn’t sure when he’d started crying. _I’m such a coward. I’ve been running this whole time. Pretending I’m on some long hunting trip and when I go home he’ll be there waiting. That they'll all be waiting._ V’rael hunched forward held his knees to his chest. He hid his face in his knees, ashamed.

“Ir abelas, dahlen. I wish I could offer you more.” _More what?_ Solas sat down on the bed and placed a hand on V’rael’s bad shoulder. It was warm and full of magic. After a while Solas said, “My healing skills are limited. But I hope this helps some. You’ll need time to heal fully. Don’t rush it.” V’rael wondered if he meant his shoulder or something else. He didn’t ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maker this took forever! For every page of "finished" fic I've got two full of cuts. That's the way it's meant to be though. If everything went in it'd just be a melodramatic mess (it still kind of is even with all the cuts let's be honest here) I tell myself not to get too attached to what I'm writing, but it's hard when you write something cute and funny. D: Perhaps I'll make a separate fic with all the cuts? Just the conversations that I think are really nice. There's one that I wrote that just about killed me when I decided to cut it. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm working my way up to the flashback. Gotta get Dorian back into the room first though, break up that Solas intimacy.


	4. Twin Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is frustrated and in search of some way to connect with Inquisitor V'rael. He might have just found the answer, or the means to end everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, but I haven't forgotten my first and favorite Inquisitor.
> 
> I can't take credit for the story about Falon'din and Dirthamin within this chapter. That was taken directly from the codex.

The twins Falon'Din and Dirthamen are the eldest children of Elgar'nan the All-Father and Mythal the Protector. The brothers were inseparable from the moment of their conception, known for their great love for each other. That is why we often speak of Falon'Din in one breath and Dirthamen the next, for they cannot bear to be apart, not even in our tales.

 

—From _The Story of Falon'Din and Dirthamen_ , as told by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves

 

* * *

 

_“No, I need Solas.”_

The words cut deep. Dorian thought he understood jealousy, but he was wrong. He had seen men he’d cared for betrothed, married, and with children, but the his feelings then had paled in comparison to what he felt now as he walked for Solas’s study. In his past relationships there had always been a silent and mutual understanding: This arrangement is not permanent. It was a salve, a balm when things ended, and things always ended. The impermanence of these past affairs had not prepared him for what he was experiencing now; biting, gnawing envy, eating away at his flesh. In hindsight he saw how that mutual understanding has shielded him from not only the more painful feelings, but the happy, joyful ones as well. With V’rael there was a chance at something permanent and complete and entirely his. Right now he felt that possibility was being threatened. His feelings and insecurities were more intense than they had ever been. It was frightening. If he was not careful, he wouldn’t just bruise, but break.

Dorian wanted to take things slow. His past relationships had been so fragile, snapping at the slightest pressure, he didn't want to ruin things with V’rael by pushing too hard. He didn’t press for answers when V’rael deflected questions about his family or his past. They kept their conversation limited to “safe” topics. They spoke of Tevinter, but not of slavery, not after the initial conversation in Haven. V’rael had bristled at the topic, so Dorian backed off. They talked of Dorian’s past, the places he’d been, and the things he’d studied, but not about his lovers. They played chess and cards. V’rael was full of questions and Dorian liked to talk. They read books. V’rael was fascinated by books, “We had so few when I was a child.” It was one of the brief and acceptable illusions to his past. They gossiped and drank wine and had sex. So much sex, it was the only thing the two of them seemed eager to rush into. _A distraction to keep us from discussing more important things._ It was so obvious now.  It wasn’t until he walked down the stair, in unfastened pants and V’rael’s too small shirt, that Dorian realized how shallow their relationship had been. There was so much distance between them. Dorian wanted more. He didn’t want V’rael running to Solas with his problems, he wanted to hold them all himself.

He sent Solas upstairs keeping his remarks limited to V’rael’s physical symptoms. He didn’t want to sound cold, but he did. It wasn’t Solas’s fault that Dorian was in this predicament, but it was easier to bully to Solas than confront any emotions of his own.  Normally he would have followed, but Dorian had no desire to see Solas tending to V’rael’s wounds, physical or otherwise. He’s spent the past week gritting his teeth feeling helpless as Solas tended to V’rael and he was tired of it. Dorian went directly to the library, not giving two shits about the awkward stares directed at his disheveled person. Clothing seemed so unimportant at the moment. In the library he began pulling books of the shelves, anything he could find on healing magic. Dorian didn’t like feeling helpless and this past week had been an exercise in uselessness. It had illuminated a rather large blind spot in his magical education and he intended to rectify it. He knew how to rend a body in two and turn it against itself, but couldn’t mend the smallest of papercuts. He opened a volume by First Enchanter Wenselus, _First Aid For Apprentices: Burns, Breaks and Lesions_. A minor but vital work. Apparently. This copy was missing more than a few pages. He sat down in his familiar chair. _I’ll make due._ Dorian tried his best to focus on the book in hand but it seemed the book was written for children. He found the tone patronizing and his mind kept wandering. Dorian thought of the past week: Solas whispering in elvish as he helped V’rael drink the potion he’d prepared. He redoubled his efforts to focus on the book in his hands. A few more pages and nagging feeling in the corner of his mind returned. _The dream...Why was he so afraid?_ Dorian couldn’t seem to comprehend what the dream was about. _Was it the birds? Possibly. He went pale at the mention of the figure..._

“You’re reading the wrong book,” said Cole. He’d appeared just behind Dorian’s left shoulder sitting on the windowsill.

“Ah Cole,” Dorian tried to not sound as startled as he actually was, “I see you’ve caught all the self-loathing and pity I’ve been spouting off.”

“ _Foolish, useless. Coward. Always hiding. Why didn’t I ask? Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”_

“Yes that.”

“You want to help. I try but it always hurts him. I can’t think of the right things to say. _I don’t want to remember...They’re all gone. I’m alone._ I’m doing it wrong.”

“Don’t take it too personally,” said Dorian, “I’ve been sleeping with him and he won’t tell me anything.” _Not that I tried very hard._

“The book will help, but not that one,” Cole pointed to the book in Dorian’s hands.

“Alright then,” said Dorian,  “Which book will magically solve all my problems?”

“None, but this one will help.” Cole pulled out a tattered mass of paper from inside his coat and handed it to Dorian. Dorian didn’t want to call it a book, though it was bound at one edge, so he supposed that’s what it must be. He held the book away from himself, it was falling apart. He worried the pages would disintegrate if he breathed on them. The cover, a slightly thicker sheet of parchment, read _Dalish Lore and Myth as told by Keeper Gisharel_ transcribed by Brother Cassus.

“How exactly are fairy tales supposed to help Cole?” asked Dorian.

“Just one. The page where the moth ate. It was hungry but it left the words.”

“All of the pages are moth eaten, you’ll have to be more specific,” Dorian opened the the book and tore the cover, “Maker! How did you keep this from turning to dust in coat?”

“The page!” Cole looked distraught, “ _Empty, cold, I can’t see, I’m lost. Where are you Brother of My Soul?_ ”

“Okay. I’ll pretend that made sense,” Dorian thumbed carefully through the volume. The pages were handwritten. The illustrations were original too. _I bet this book is one of a kind._ Haunting images of silver eyed elves, fierce and tall with patterned limbs in deep red. He looked for V’rael’s face in the drawings, knowing he wouldn’t find it. The elves in this book were other worldly. They had ashy white skin and a terrible countenance. V’rael’s skin was dark and brown, and though his eyes were silver, like the illustrations’ in the book, his eyes were kind.

As Dorrian turned the pages they seemed to come alive.The figures faded in and out of the foliage and twined around the margins. Each page bled into the next effortlessly. Dorian started to understand how precious the book was. Artfully crafted. He doubted whether Brother Cassus was the actual author. _The interior pages too different from the cover._ He also realized this was the first book on the Dalish he’d bothered to pick up. _Foolish coward I am. I even avoided books about the Dalish. All this time wasted, when I could have been..._ He felt ashamed and angry with himself.

“Cole, where did you-” _There!_ A title caught his eye: _The Story of Falon’Din and Dirthamen: The Twin Souls. Cole said something about that: Brother of my Soul. Twin souls perhaps?_ The words vibrated in his mind, familiar. The title was framed by two figures with clasped hands. Dorian’s heart almost leapt out of his chest. One of them looked familiar. In the bottom corner of the page he could see two black birds.

“Is this it?” he asked Cole.

“Yes! The black things, the birds. They chase, they nash with beaks.Fear and Deceit”   _Is he saying what I think he’s saying?_

“Do you mean my dream or the book?” Dorian felt his hands shake in excitement.

“Both.”

“This is fantastic!” Dorian was on his feet. He wanted to pace, to run. _There might be some explanation about the dream in here._

“It’s not everything,” said Cole, “The rest is locked away. I can’t see it, he won’t let me. It hurts. But I saw this.” He pointed to the book.

“Still, any explanation is better than none,” said Dorian skimming the pages, “Do you think-” But Cole was gone when Dorian looked up. He returned to the book and read:

 

_When the world was young, the gods often walked the earth, and Falon'Din and Dirthamen were no exception. Both were delighted by the many wonders of our earth. They played with the animals, whispered to the trees, and bathed in the lakes and streams. Their days were filled with bliss, and they did not know sorrow._

_And then one day, while passing through the forest, Falon'Din and Dirthamen came across an old and sickly Deer resting beneath a tree._

_"Why do you sit so still, little sister?" asked Falon'Din._

_"Play with us," said Dirthamen._

_"Alas," spoke the Deer, "I cannot. I am old, and although I wish to go to my rest, my legs can no longer carry me."_

_Taking pity on the deer, Falon'Din gathered her up into his arms and carried her to her rest beyond the_ [ _Veil_ ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Veil) _. Dirthamen tried to follow them, but the shifting grey paths beyond the Veil would not let him. Separated for the first time from Falon'Din, Dirthamen wandered aimlessly 'til he came across two ravens._

_"You are lost, and soon you will fade," the Raven named Fear said to Dirthamen._

_"Your brother has abandoned you. He no longer loves you," said the other, named Deceit._

_"I am not lost, and Falon'Din has not abandoned me," replied Dirthamen. He subdued the ravens and bade them carry him to Falon'Din. This they did, for they had been defeated and were now bound to Dirthamen's service._

_When Dirthamen found Falon'Din, he found also the Deer, who once again was light on her feet, for her spirit was released from her weakened body. Both Falon'Din and Dirthamen rejoiced to see this. Falon'Din vowed that he would remain to carry all the dead to their place_ [ _Beyond_ ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Fade) _, just as he did the deer. And Dirthamen stayed with him, for the twins cannot bear to be apart._

 

The similarities were striking, but so were the differences. The dream had the same characters, but the relationships were twisted, wrong. The Deer from the story was female and hornless, the deer in the dream had horns and transformed into a man. Dorian’s mind raced. _Perhaps the dream figure was an amalgamation of the Deer and the god-creature Falon’din? Falon’din was male, right? If so then perhaps I was meant to represent Dirthamen in the dream. But then my reaction to the Ravens didn’t make sense. I wasn’t their master, I was afraid. I ran. Is it because I’m not Dalish? Was I even myself in the dream or someone else entirely?_ _No, too  much guesswork. I won’t make progress with guesswork. I need more information_. _This story can’t be the only one, perhaps there is more information lurking about the library…_

Dorian’s eyes darted to the nearest shelf and he was startled to see Solas silently staring at him, or rather the book in his hands. Solas’s brow was furrowed. He looked agitated. Dorian closed the book and brought it to his side.

“How is he?” asked Dorian, he tried not to sound bitter, but he couldn’t help himself. Solas’s expression softened and resumed its normal veneer of calm. He gave a weak smile.

“Physically? Fine, if not a little tired and... sore,” said Solas. He looked Doiran over taking note of his disheveled appearance, “However, he’s upset. He wouldn’t elaborate, but-”

“You have an idea,” said Dorian.

“Yes, but surely you would be better equipped to handle this kind of situation?”

“Me? Why should I be? He asked for you.”

Solas looked surprised, “He hasn’t said anything to you about the conclave? Nothing about…

“No. He hasn’t told me anything. Why do you think I’m here digging around in old books?” Solas’s eyes darted to the book in Dorian’s hand again, but only briefly.

“Pardon me. I assumed that with the nature of your _relationship_ he would have spoken to you about it.” Doiran bristled, but held his tongue.

“He mentioned a dream you had,” continued Solas, “Tell me, what was it about?”

“He didn’t tell you?” It was Dorian’s turned to be surprised. _Apparently I’m not the only V’rael has been keeping things from._ The knowledge that he was not alone in his ignorance was supremely gratifying. Dorian tried not to look smug as he explained the details of his dream. _Perhaps I can finally get some concrete answers._

“And you think you were actually conscious in the dream, aware of the Fade?” asked Solas.

“Yes, but it felt odd, like I was intruding. Or that I wasn’t really myself,” said Dorian.

“I see.” Solas’s brow furrowed in concentration.

Dorian, impatient for answers, added, “I think the dream has something to do with this story.” Dorian opened the tattered volume in his hands gingerly and held it out to Solas for inspection. “There are some very strong correlations between the-”

“Yes, I see. Dirthamen and Falon’din. That would explain a few things,” interrupted Solas. Dorian’s nostrils flared in frustration. _Explain what? What do you know?_

“You’ve read it?” asked Dorian trying to keep himself civil.

“The book is mine.”

 _Kaffas. And I tore the cover. Damn it Cole, you could have warned me._ “I suppose you’ll be wanting this back then?”

“When you’re finished. Be careful with it. The contents of that volume are very old.” Solas turned to leave.

“Wait!” shouted Dorian, “That’s it? You can’t give me any more information?”

“Not without betraying Lavellan’s trust,” said Solas at the door.

 _I’ve been conned and I should have known better. He’s not going to tell me anything._ Dorian felt like throwing Solas’s book over the railing. Instead he went back to his alcove, sat down and his chair and applied pressure to the bridge of his nose. He was developing a headache. Just when he thought he was alone, Solas said,

“I can not say too much, but I can tell you this. Your dream, I do not think it was actually yours. I believe it was a reflection of V’rael’s subconscious mirrored in the Fade. The images, the figure you saw are deeply important to him, significant enough for spirits to take notice and mimic. Spirits only mimic things they find interesting or want to understand. You are lucky to have seen them.”

 _Is that jealousy I hear?_ There was a sharpness to Solas’s tone, like copper on the tongue, “Perhaps instead of hiding in the library, searching for answers you will not find, you should speak with him yourself.”

 _Is he blaming me?! V’rael’s the one withholding information!_ Dorian got to his feet intending to say as much, but Solas turned and left. Doiran kicked the nearest bookshelf and felt his fingers thick with flames. He looked over his shoulder and saw he had an audience: a couple of rebel mage apprentices. They looked wide eyed and a little panicky.

“Can I help you?” asked Dorian loudly. He did nothing to temper his anger and let the apprentices take the full weight of it.

“N-No sir!” said a boy no older than fifteen. The other apprentice dropped her book and ran for the door. The boy grabbed it of the floor and scurried after her. Dorian took a deep breath. _I suppose it’s finally time to have a real discussion. But first I need a change of clothes._ Dorian looked again at the book in his hands, _Yes time to find out who you are Amatus._


End file.
